


Comforts Few And Far Between

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: tumblr prompt basket [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Has Stolen Grace, Castiel and Helplessness, Castiel just wants to help, Dubcon Kissing, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Nightmares, Protective Castiel, Sam Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester Has Cage Trauma, pre-sastiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Of all the things Castiel hated about becoming human, the helplessness he felt was the worst. Even with his stolen Grace, that feeling doesn't go away.





	Comforts Few And Far Between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tumblr kiss prompt number 41: Forbidden kiss! (mostly forbidden in that Castiel didn't ask first before kissing Sam and so Sam hadn't actually given him permission.)

**T** HE HARDEST THING about being human had been the overwhelming feeling of helplessness when faced with the suffering of others around him. Castiel was used to being able to heal with a touch, to compress the ambient molecules into configurations that formed items such as blankets or food, or even to simply alter the speed of the ambient molecules to warm a cold room. It made the place inside his vessel’s chest where the majority of his Grace once concentrated ache when pressing his hand to a bleeding wound could only barely stem the flow of blood rather than heal it entirely. In some ways, he was grateful that Gadreel had forced Dean to turn him away, because Sam and Dean were so often injured that it would have been a constant pull to want to heal them and a constant disappointment...  _failure_... to be unable to do so.

With Gadreel ejected and the stolen Grace burning hot and harsh inside his Vessel against the tiny anchored shred that still held his sense of self, Castiel had thought perhaps it would be easier, now, to stay with Sam who still so clearly needed help and healing. It wasn’t. Sam refused all but the bare minimum of healing from Castiel, just enough to help fix the damage from the Trials to keep him alive and slowly recovering. Worse than the refusal was the knowledge that Sam turned down those efforts out of concern for Castiel, for the innate understanding of what using that stolen Grace cost Castiel each time. It was a price Castiel was more than willing to pay, but he would not violate Sam’s autonomy as so many before had done by using his Grace upon him without his permission, even just to heal.

As much as it hurt not to be permitted to heal Sam’s physical hurts, it ached all the more to see Sam caught in the grips of a nightmare, tormented by memories and the creations of his own mind, and be forbidden to reach out and ease that tornment with a touch. This, too, Castiel understood logically, had understood even before Sam had explained, shamefaced, that the Grace Castiel held now was not only discordant from what he remembered of the feel of Castiel’s own Grace, but actively brought to mind the flash and burn of Michael’s fiery rage lashing out against his soul in the Cage. When he was awake and aware and allowing the healing, he could suppress the reaction, but in the grips of a nightmare the feel of that fire would only worsen his mental torment. It pained Castiel further that Sam felt he had to apologize for his own reactions, as if a perfectly understandable response to trauma was somehow a personal failing. So Castiel reassured him as best he could and forced himself to ignore the tossing and turning and the muffled screams.

There were nights, however, when he could no longer stand to wait idly while Sam’s mind tortured him anew, and he would slip into the hunter’s room with quiet steps and sit beside him on the bed. He kept a tight rein on his stolen Grace in those moments, not allowing himself to reach out save for the entirely physical movement of his vessel’s hand stroking back Sam’s sweat-soaked hair, using gentle methods of soothing he had once observed human mothers use with their children. The simple touches, devoid of Grace, helped more than he had first expected them to, but he was grateful that he could still impart some small comfort to his friend.

Once, only once, he had dared to bend down and brush a kiss across Sam’s brow the way he had done once before when Sam had been in the throes of detox after facing off against Famine. The fire surged inside him at the brief contact, the near touch of Grace to Soul, and he drew back quickly and fled lest the Grace escape his hold and undo his careful efforts to soothe.

He never saw the soft smile that crossed Sam’s lips.


End file.
